


They call this a page turner

by midnightflame



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex, Rimming, Spitroasting, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightflame/pseuds/midnightflame
Summary: When Keith thought about a welcome back gift for Shiro, he didn't think Kuro would have made plans of his own on the matter.





	They call this a page turner

**Author's Note:**

> I had been planning this for a while, but I wanted to create a bit of a thank you gift for [Gunny](https://twitter.com/Gunmetalr0se) who is not only an amazing artist but has to be one of the sweetest and most generous souls I've ever met. She was part of what made my first AX a wonderful experience and has always been so wonderfully supportive of me over on twitter. So, thank you, Gunny - I hope you enjoy these boys having fun <3 
> 
> And as always, you can find me over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ByMidnightFlame)!

If you want to talk about semi-charmed lives, Keith has to admit that he has lived something of one. At least from the moment, when at twenty-four years old, he encountered Takashi Shirogane. 

Takashi, or Shiro as he insists on being called by most, is a well-known author who inhabits the Tribeca area. By well-known, Shiro is what they call an up-and-coming talent, whose first book took the literary world by that proverbial storm that rockets novels onto best-seller lists simply based on pre-release buzz. 

Everyone wanted a piece of the thirty-year-old with the boy-next-door smile, whose own life spoke more of tragedy and persistence than stardust and daydreams. He had racked up the patriotic accolades from a military career that had left him with a scar across his nose, a pre-mature whitening of his hair, and a sense of humor that seemed to open its arms to death more than it did to laughter. The details of his (honorable) dismissal from the military aren’t well known, save for injuries sustained saving lives after a blast ripped through a coffee shop, but Keith knows them intimately now. He’s seen the scar tissue after the repeated surgeries on Shiro’s right arm, warping the tattoos that had been there, all just to salvage some semblance of feeling in his fingertips.

Keith hadn’t known any of that the first day on the job though - who Shiro was or how, in his complete lack of awareness, he would somehow charm his way into Shiro’s heart. The place of that fated meeting - The Red Lion Bookstore - exists only three blocks away from Shiro’s loft. No one had told Keith that this rockstar of an author frequented the place, or that he had his own special room in the back to browse the handpicked selections of the owner. Allura rarely catered to her clientele, but when a best selling novelist suddenly springs up among your regulars, it’s like a light flickers on, illuminating all the ways in which keeping such a client works to your advantage. And Allura is anything but stupid, though she can get a bit. . .excited. 

When he had walked in that first morning, he had not expected the flurry of activity that greeted him. A complete whirlwind of anticipation: books being positioned and repositioned, the spotless wood floors swept yet again, the doorknob polished for the tenth time (at least according to the mutterings of the bookstore’s manager, Coran). And at the center of it all, a display for that week’s newest arrival - _To the Farthest Reaches of the Universe_. Keith hadn’t read it, though he considered himself decently well read. 

That’s how he had landed the job, after all. Allura refused to take on anyone who didn’t have an innate love for a book. That included the feel of one. None of that Kindle nonsense, she had said, throwing her hands up as if to sweep the very notion of a digital reader into the gaping mouth of outer space. But she had a point. There’s something about having a story physically within your hands. The differences in texture and paper thickness. Glossed text. Matte pages. It was something to hold onto. Another way to ingrain a life in the very core of you.

All those places he had been. 

He hadn’t been looking for a job in a bookstore. Just a job in general. But he had happened to be passing by The Red Lion when a young woman, her silvery hair pinned perfectly in a librarian’s bun, instructed some unknown entity in the window as to the best placement for a **NOW HIRING** sign. Call it serendipity. Or Fate. Or any other notion that when you look back into your past, it all starts to feel like the pieces falling into the places they were meant to be.

Keith took a chance on asking. Two minutes later, after a complete once over that had left him feeling like a fledgling recruit standing before a five-star general, Allura had dragged him into the store, practically thrown him into a plush red velvet chair, and started firing off questions as though he had been the answer to all her problems. They ranged from various books, both classics and modern alike, to his preferences for tea, to his overall take on the general public. Apparently, he had known enough about the stories, liked his tea strong enough without being too picky, and carried a sharp enough edge to his demeanor to make him suitable to sell books.

Her books at least.

Which isn’t to say they were _her_ books, but rather what she chose to sell. This being in complete contrast to the Sincline bookstore just around the corner, which catered to every and all tastes as long as it was guaranteed to fly off the shelves and keep its owner’s pockets well lined. He supposedly had a few odd and eccentric hobbies, of which Keith has yet to see for himself, but the rumors of which always managed to give him pause. 

Like trying to find portals into past and future lives. 

That first day, however, was nothing like what Keith had imagined. His ideas had consisted mostly of learning which shelves certain genres were kept, where their store catalog was and how to read it, navigating the stock room, working the cash register. . .the usual sorts of things generally required of someone working retail. Instead, he had stepped into that maelstrom of activity, all because of one particular author.

Takashi Shirogane. 

And his debut novel. He had supposedly agreed to do his first signing at Allura’s store, and while Keith would have anticipated a handful of people at best for a brand new author, what he found was a line around the block and the endless chittering of. . .well, Keith still isn’t sure he would call all of them _avid_ readers. More like fans, each hoping to get a glimpse of Shiro, ogling his penmanship, and by penmanship, what Keith had picked up from the general whisperings was that most meant Shiro himself. Among a few choice words of what will remain “unrepeatable” parts of him.

That being said, Shiro is handsome. 

Not just your second-glance-down-the-street sort of handsome but the kind that can stop you dead in your tracks. 

Keith had the great (mis)fortune of bumping into him in that back room that hadn’t existed until Allura had informed him of it only several minutes prior to his entering it. The same one she reserved for those few patrons she quietly adored - whether for their taste in literature or their ability to elevate her bookstore’s status in the city. She had shoved a handful of books into his hands before directing him to the room, with the explicit instructions to not make a fool of himself, smile, and “give the man whatever he wants.”

The door had opened, Keith had stepped inside, and within the first five seconds, he had bumped into this stellar remnant of a man, dropped each and every book between them, and uttered a string of curses that could have opened the gates to Hell. 

Laughter had greeted him then. With his cheeks scalding, Keith had set about picking up the books only to find himself face-to-face with Shiro. The man had knelt to help him, and with it, Keith came under the full force of his smile. 

_“First day?”_

It was like someone had pressed the pause button on his life, and he was left with one of two choices - move forward with the moment or rewind into himself. Keith had never considered himself someone who shies away from the fight, but at that particular moment, he had wondered if giving up might not be the better option. Smile, apologize, pretend like he didn’t exist and maybe consider looking for another job. Instead, he had felt the scowl pull at his lips, heard himself utter _I’m working on it_ and proceeded to gather the books like he hadn’t just done the opposite of everything Allura had told him to do.

Shiro’s laughter is still something he remembers to this day. Because it was warm, and sweet, and it told him nothing was going to be held against him for his honest reaction. 

Keith is pretty sure it’s because of that moment, and all his utter lack of grace, the absolute roughness of his soul back then, that he ended up living with Shiro today. 

“Morning, Red. . .”

When he looks up from his book, handpicked by Allura just that week, it’s to the sight of a man walking out of the bedroom, completely disheveled by sleep and looking all the better for it. 

“You’re up earlier than expected,” Keith says, setting the book aside. The fate of that Achilles-inspired hero would have to wait, as would the question of dying for love. He glances toward the kitchen, exhales softly, then pushes himself up from the couch. “I’ll get you something for breakfast. . .”

The man mumbles something, his words swallowed by a yawn, and runs his hand up the back of his head. In one seamless motion, he sends the short black strands of hair from barely contained chaos to full-on riot. He smoothes it all down a moment later, as if suddenly aware of the anarchy brewing atop his head, and tosses a grin over at Keith. There’s just enough fang to it to remind him that Kuro is not his brother. 

Ryou Shirogane is Takashi’s twin. He’s the younger by eighteen minutes, and he resides in Shiro’s loft along with Keith. While everyone had taken to calling Takashi “Shiro” during their college years, it was Ryou who had dubbed himself “Kuro” in complete and utter contrast to everything Shiro stood for. 

_Can’t have the light without the dark, now can you?_

“How could I stay asleep knowing you were out here all alone?” Kuro asks, that grin growing sharper by the word. 

Despite his current appearance, Keith has learned that no matter how undone, how exhausted the man looks, Kuro is never one to be caught off-guard. He’s the lion that never sleeps. Not that Shiro is naive, but there’s an innocence to him that Kuro seems to have shrugged off years ago. Long before Keith knew him at least. 

Long enough to seem entirely settled with its absence.

Keith pulls down a mug from the cabinet beside the sink. He places it with a soft _clack!_ on the white marble countertop, then sets about digging through the neighboring cabinet for the coffee filters. “Just admit it, Kuro - you couldn’t sleep. . .”

When Kuro chuckles, it spills a shiver right down Keith’s spine. The sound is heated, rich, full of wanting. It’s got the same sort of addictive quality that chocolate lava cake has: this dark sweetness that promises to fulfill every late-night craving, just bitter enough to tame that sugary edge and keep you coming back for more. Even after you’ve sworn you’ve taken the last bite. 

“I think waking up at two in the afternoon is doing pretty good for me,” Kuro replies. He’s crossed the space that makes up the living room, but rather than taking a seat on one of the bar stools parked at the kitchen island, he seems intent on pushing into the kitchen proper.

“Are you going in tonight?”

Keith glances over his shoulder just in time to catch the tail-end of Kuro’s shrug.

“I think the club will manage well enough without me. Unless Shiro wants a drink. . .”

“His flight gets in around six, doesn't it?”

“Yeah. . .something like that.”

Kuro delivers his last line with a nonchalance that has Keith lifting his eyebrow in question. Something like that? No answer appears to be forthcoming as Kuro rounds the far end of the island. By the time he reaches Keith’s side, he’s yawning again. Doesn’t even bother covering up his mouth as he settles in behind Keith, who presses the start button on the automated coffee maker. Within minutes, the scent of French vanilla starts to flood the kitchen, but all Keith can think about is how fresh Kuro’s breath smells.

He hadn’t _just_ woken up, but had taken the time to brush his teeth and wash his face it would seem. What he hadn’t bothered with is a shirt or the run of a comb through his hair. Keith knows the reason behind such calculated measures, and he could hate himself for it, but there’s something about the way Kuro’s arms snake around his waist that numbs his conscience. 

“I can’t finish making you breakfast like this. . .” Keith murmurs, denying the blush on his cheeks.

“Don’t need it,” Kuro mumbles into Keith’s neck. “Got you right here. . .”

“You can’t eat me.”

“Pretty sure I can. . .”

The snort Keith makes is one crafted entirely of indignation. He turns his head and feigns a bite against Kuro’s cheek, teeth clacking as his jaw snaps shut. “I’m not on the menu.”

Kuro nuzzles into Keith’s neck. His body presses a little closer; his weight grows a bit heavier. As he breathes out, his lips brush against Keith’s throat. Barely parted, the words are slow to come, but when they do, it’s not just a tease that carries them. It’s a fully-fledged want. 

“Can I put in a special request?”

The coffee maker beeps as the last of the liquid drips into the pot. Keith swallows. Special requests. . .he knows what those are like. He’s seen them made in Kuro’s nightclub, by the people who linger at the bar, smiles ranging from the obsequious to the seductive on their lips. Each one a prelude to an exception waiting to be made, an expectation demanding to be met - black sugar on the rim, pineapple rather than coconut rum, a plate of cherries to entertain tongues, round not square ice cubes and only two of them in each glass. Keith’s heard them all while sitting at the bar, where Kuro stands behind it, nodding his head as he listens, silently calculating the costs. 

There’s a price for everything, after all. Indulgences included. 

He has yet to have a complaint about it, though. Which Keith figures likely relates to two things. First, that smirk of his, absolute in its power, slick enough in its confidence that any thought of combating him slips right out of mind. And second, Kuro’s overall presence, that dressed-down sort of wicked that invites you in just as much as it tells you he’s been playing in the dark long enough to see better than most inside of it. 

Certainly better than you. 

“What sort of request would that be?” Keith asks.

But even as he puts the question out there, Kuro is already giving him his answer. Lips press against the side of his neck. Hands slide beneath his crimson T-shirt. As Kuro’s fingers make their tactile survey of his abdomen, Keith sucks in a breath and feels something in his body give. A subtle relaxing of his shoulders, back curving, eyes shutting.

Kuro doesn’t stop, not that Keith has given him any reason to. He continues to push Keith’s shirt up, fingers only pausing to brush a thumb over his right nipple, and as his hands work their way up, Kuro’s lips work their way down. Another kiss to his neck, just beneath his chin, then the midpoint of his jugular, the base of his neck. By the time Kuro presses his lips between his shoulder blades, Keith exhales shakily.

“We don’t have a lot of time, Kuro,” he manages to get out after teeth scrape against skin.

The only reply Keith gets is a soft hum, a bare acknowledgment of being heard, and the descent of Kuro’s hands towards his hips. 

With each inch lower, Kuro guides Keith’s body, pressing him forward against the counter until Keith relents and sets his forearms against it. Then, hips out. All of it a slow dive down into Kuro’s rhythm. Keith has been here before (far too many times, he thinks), lured out into the depths by the unrelenting pull of Kuro’s desires. It’s like the man knows exactly which switches to flip, so that every bit of rebellion in him falls asleep, leaving his mind open to the suggestions of Kuro’s fingers, his lips, his. . .

“Don’t worry, kitten, I’ve got it all planned out,” Kuro murmurs against the small of Keith’s back. 

With that reassurance, Kuro slides a hand beneath the waistband of Keith’s sweatpants and slowly wraps his fingers around his cock. He’s half-hard already, a fact that Keith could hate himself for if it weren’t for the way Kuro handles him. Like he’s got his palm pressed to the wheel of a brand new Bugatti, just anticipating the moment he gets to devour each curve, every inch of skin with all that fine-tuned control that always leaves Keith’s better thoughts in the dust. 

“We can’t. . .” Keith pants out, squeezing his eyes shut. Shiro will be back in four hours, and that’s. . .what sort of time frame is that? Enough for this? Enough to shower and finish cleaning the place? 

Would it be long enough for that smug smirk, the one that will inevitably come if he falls for this now, to fade from Kuro’s lips?

“I can’t leave you like this,” Kuro says. He gives Keith’s cock a languid pump, tightening his grip just slightly beneath the head of it. “That would be cruel of me, Red. . .”

 _Red_. The first thing Kuro ever called him. For the longest time, Keith had thought Kuro didn’t know his name, simply knew him as the man his brother was dating. It wasn’t until he moved in that he learned Kuro had always known it (“because Shiro never did shut up about you”) and had merely liked the nickname, stolen from the red leather jacket Keith called his favorite. 

Bit by bit, Kuro’s right hand pulls down his sweatpants until the fabric creates a black pool around Keith’s feet. Inch by inch, he widens Keith’s stance. 

Kuro’s mouth finds the curve of his ass. The hand around his cock starts its movements again, down the shaft then slow-slow-slowly working back toward the head. Somewhere in Keith’s mind, he knows he should wait, knows he should put a stop to this and continue with his own plans, the ones he had laid down with Shiro’s return in mind. He’s been gone for two weeks now, touring around the country for his newest book. Tonight, he would finally be home. . .But it always gets to a point when the video chats aren’t enough.

Not even the ones where Shiro jerks off for him and Keith makes him the filthiest of promises. 

Anything he wants so long as he comes back home. And as many times as it takes to satisfy them both. 

He’d never considered himself that sort of person - to get off on videos of his lover, whispering to him of all the things he’d do, how badly he wants to open his mouth and have Shiro shut him up. Every time he’d dated before Shiro came into his life, it remained just that - a date. A free meal usually, and occasionally the fuck he needed to get through the next few months. No phone numbers ever exchanged. No promises for another time. 

But the more he came to know Shiro, the tighter Keith found himself locked into his orbit, never wanting to leave. This isn’t about Shiro being his sun, some bright existence without which he couldn’t be, but rather, he’s the very universe in which Keith expanded. The place where he became more of himself than he had ever been. 

The first time Shiro kissed him, Keith swore he saw galaxies beyond human imagination. And the first time they made love, he knew that Shiro would always be the one who felt like home.

Then, he agreed to move in and met Kuro.

If Shiro is the place where Keith renews himself, then Kuro became the one where Keith went to die, embracing everything human about him. Every fault. Every flaw. Every base need.

Where Shiro accepts all those things, it’s Kuro who delights in accentuating them.

Kuro’s tongue runs a line up his left ass cheek, but Keith doesn’t let out a moan until he feels the way Kuro pulls him apart and licks at his hole. There’s nothing tentative about it, but rather, it’s an inquiring tease, waiting for Keith’s reaction to gauge next steps taken. The moan must have been what Kuro wanted as the next thing Keith feels is the way it pushes inside of him just as Kuro jerks on his cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith spits out. He rocks forward and presses his head against his forearms. The world goes black. His lips part as he starts to pant through his next few breaths. Kuro’s tongue is relentless in its pursuit of Keith’s pleasure.

It was Shiro who first ate him out, breaking down Keith’s embarrassment over the act. But it was Kuro who made him weak to it.

A throaty chuckle greets that single curse word. Kuro licks at his hole, a quick flick of his tongue, then returns to lavishing it with the sort of attention any architect might envy for the way it builds Keith up. His hand gives one more pump of Keith’s cock before fingers unravel from around his shaft. 

For a brief moment, Keith is grateful for the release of that pressure, his orgasm building far too quickly for his liking. He’s never liked to finish quickly, not with Shiro, though he knows this is inevitable. He hasn’t touched himself all week, waiting instead for the night Shiro would return. But just as that gratitude starts to ease him back from his impending release, Kuro’s hand finds his balls and expertly begins fondling them. At the same time, teeth nip at the inside of his right ass cheek, drawing a sharp yelp from Keith.

More laughter. Keith can feel his skin burning as he bucks against Kuro’s hands. Carefully. The man still has his fingers curled around his balls. 

“Easy, Red. . .we’re getting you there,” Kuro murmurs. 

There’s an edge to his voice that Keith could come from alone - something sharp with promise, dark with desire. Thoroughly devoted to Keith in that one moment. 

When Kuro’s tongue moves into him again, Keith doesn’t bother holding back the moan. He parts his lips as the sound frees itself from his throat and glances down the length of his body to see his erect cock flush against his lower abdomen and Kuro’s fingers once more massaging him. This time, Kuro spares nothing. His tongue moves shamelessly inside of him, around his rim, across his skin. His hand moves back up to his cock, gripping it one finger after another, and begins to pump along his shaft with the steady rhythm of someone intent of reaching his end goal.

Namely, Keith’s orgasm. 

“Keith?”

The name slips from a far too familiar voice, and just as he thinks he shouldn’t come, he does. His hips jerk, thrusting into Kuro’s hand as laughter spills out from behind him.

“Welcome home, Shiro,” Kuro says, the laughter staining his voice, his hand still working the last of Keith’s orgasm out of him.

Keith collapses against his forearms and shoves the sob back down his throat. His legs feel weak, his asshole is wet, and this is not the sight he wanted to greet Shiro with. He had had plans for that, which included wearing the outfit Shiro loved him in. The one with those jeans that clung low on his hips, suggestive enough to hopefully make Shiro question dinner at seven and reschedule their reservations for later in the evening.

If they even made it that far.

“You weren’t kidding about the welcome home gift. . .”

Shiro sounds surprised, but not devastatingly so. 

Keith lifts his head, his heart still hammering, and glances over his shoulder at Shiro. He’s standing on the other side of the island, his messenger bag set on the top of it, and is giving Keith a once over that makes him want to drop to his knees for a different reason. 

“What welcome gift?” he finally manages to get out. His tongue feels likes it’s trying to drag the words out of molasses.

Laughter spills out of Kuro again. Parked against the near side of the kitchen island, he stands there with his arms folded over his chest and his head tipped back toward his brother. “You, of course.”

A spark of indignant fury works its way through Keith’s veins. His jaw sets. “Something like that, huh?”

Kuro’s laughter deepens. 

“You knew! Why didn’t you tell me he was coming in early?!”

“Because I asked him not to, Keith,” Shiro says calmly. As he walks into the kitchen, he loosens his tie, tugging it off and handing it to his brother. He always did like to travel in style when it came to his business trips - full suit, typically black or gray, crisp white shirt, leather oxfords polished to a high shine. (Belatedly, Keith notes the lack of his jacket, the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down, the bare feet. How had he missed him entering the loft?) When Shiro pulls to a halt beside him, he reaches out and brushes the hair from Keith’s eyes. “Kuro thought it might be nice to come home to you. . .”

Shiro lifts his eyebrow at Keith as he glances over him once more. As a smirk starts to form at the corner of his mouth, Keith can feel his cheeks beginning to burn all over again.

“You look so good, baby,” Shiro whispers as he kisses Keith on the forehead. “I’ve been looking forward to you all week.”

“You could have told me,” Keith mutters, though he turns his head for Shiro to kiss him properly. 

As his lips part and Shiro’s tongue slips inside, he feels a hand running along the curve of his ass, a finger probing his hole. Keith lets out a little whine. Something cool works its way between his ass cheeks, but when Keith tries to look, Shiro redirects his attention back to his mouth. His other hand now grips Keith by the chin and holds him there as they continue to kiss, and that finger finally slides inside of him.

He thinks it’s Shiro fingering him, but maybe it’s Kuro. 

Maybe it's both.

There’s another finger there now, teasing at his entrance. 

“Can you take another?” Shiro asks, the words pressed softly against his lips.

Keith nods, then moans as a second finger starts working him open. Somewhere behind him, he hears rustling, followed by a grunt from Kuro.

This time, Shiro chuckles. Soft but deep, amused in the fondest of ways. “Leave it to my brother to find himself in trouble even as he’s dragging others into it. . .How about one more finger, baby?”

Another nod, more erratic in its motion. With the additional finger now inside of him, Keith whimpers again. He tries to move his hips back, riding out the way he’s getting fucked open by one or both of the Shirogane brothers but finds himself held in place by another hand on his hip. A weak growl slips past his lips, only to be swallowed down by Shiro as he kisses him again. No tongue to it this time, but drawing Keith back into Shiro’s orbit all the same. 

Inevitably, as he always seems to, he falls into the rhythm set by them.

“I missed you,” Shiro murmurs as he draws back. 

Keith can see the way his cock strains against his pants. He must be fully erect. A thought that gets his heart racing, his hole twitching against the fingers sliding themselves out of him. 

“Missed you too. . .so much, Shiro. . .” he answers, spilling his words in between breaths.

Usually, he would hate sounding so needy, but being reunited with Shiro after weeks of so little, and here, in this space that’s just been for them. . .he doesn’t even give it a second thought. Behind him, he hears the sound of a zipper being pulled open, the rustle of clothing followed by a soft grunt, and then, there are hands on his hips, guiding him away from the countertop. 

Shiro runs a hand down his spine, a single finger tracing its way from top to base, then down into the crevice of his ass. As he does that, Kuro moves out from behind him to stand in front of him. His left hand is on his cock, palming it through his sweatpants. Bent over, Keith gets an eyeful of it, and he notes the small wet spot staining the black of those pants darker still. 

He doesn’t bother to hide his smirk when he glances up at Kuro. And Keith doesn’t even lose a beat as Shiro nudges the tip of his cock against his hole when he says, “You gonna give me a show now, Kuro?”

A smile splits Kuro’s mouth, the gesture sharp, dangerous. It’s complemented by that glint in his gray eyes, the ones that look so much like Shiro’s yet always seem to turn a shade darker when he’s indulging himself with “life’s little delights.”

_Some things are a sin, Red, but you’re sure as hell not one of them. But on the off chance you are, you’re the finest crafted downfall Satan ever made._

“My brother hasn't been giving you enough of those?” Kuro asks, eyebrow lifted. He pulls the fabric of his sweatpants tight, showcasing the outline of his cock. 

He’s as big as his brother. But rougher about the sex. . .not that Shiro didn’t have his tricks. 

Keith opens his mouth to reply but finds himself moaning instead. With a hand on each hip, Shiro draws Keith back as he eases his cock inside of him. Taking his time, inch by inch, allowing Keith to adjust to his girth. And looking down at him is Kuro, that smile still cutting across his face, all lion that knows precisely what his share will be.

“You know it’s never the same, Kuro,” Shiro says, his voice sounding tightly wound around his pleasure. “Isn’t that right, Keith?”

He nods in response, feeling the stretch as Shiro bottoms out inside of him. Tongue swiping along his lower lip, he glances behind him. Shiro looks. . .so damn beautiful. Keith has always thought that about him during those first moments he takes him in. The way he seems to stand there on the edge, staring down into the abyss, knowing that he’s going to take that deep dive into everything he’s ever quietly craved. 

Letting go of everything to have it all in return.

And he’s the one who brings Shiro to that edge. Kuro’s spoken of it before, how he’s never seen Shiro so unapologetically himself then when he’s with Keith. Including in the bedroom. 

When they’ve been apart for any decent amount of time, Shiro always starts slow, as if savoring every bit of Keith he can feel, sealing it back inside of his memory. It’s an easy rhythm to begin, hips drawing back until only the tip of his cock is buried, then sliding back inside smoothly. Over and over, until it evokes that certain sort of madness inside of Keith, the sort that only comes when he’s being teased to the precipice but never quite allowed to go over it.

“Kuro. . .he did a good job warming you up for me, don’t you think?” 

Shiro is still fucking into Keith, taking his sweet time. And during it all, Keith feels his cock getting harder, his thoughts growing hazier, and even with all of that, he can still clearly see Kuro standing before him, stroking himself through his sweatpants. His brow furrows as Keith looks directly up at him, his hand squeezing the base of his cock as their eyes meet.

“He did,” Keith admits.

“Should we thank him for that?” Shiro jerks his hips forward, punctuating that question in a way that has Keith crying out desperately.

He wants more, just like that. A complete and total take-down, obliterating all the pent-up worry he had contained while Shiro was away from him. Part of it, he thinks, induced by Kuro, who had told him the stories of their time in the military, of Shiro being there one minute and then not. Whether he would say so or not, Kuro conceals a good deal of panic when his brother is out of the city, someplace where he can’t get to him. Where once again, he might not be able to get there fast enough. 

Keith reaches out, fingers latching onto Kuro’s sweatpants, and tugs the man forward. He places his hands on Kuro’s thighs, runs them up, steadies himself when Shiro’s cock starts to pound into him. As he pulls down the waistband of his pants, Kuro’s cock springs free, the tip slick with precum. Keith imagines he’s been hard since eating him out, and there’s something strangely satisfying about that idea.

Of Kuro standing there, turned out and unable to do anything more with him. Waiting, just like he was, for Shiro to step in and take his place.

He wraps his right hand around the base of Kuro’s cock, and as he leans forward, smirks up at him. 

“Thank you,” he says, smug and unapologetic for that, as he swipes his tongue across the tip.

The moan Kuro releases is deep with satisfaction, like a man’s first drink of water after a marathon without it. 

At the sound, Shiro’s pace picks up. Keith steadies himself with his other hand still on Kuro’s thigh, and once certain he’s settled, he wraps his lips around Kuro’s cock and slowly begins to swallow him down. For a moment, Kuro lets him suck him off, setting his own pace, satisfying himself with the weight of Kuro on his tongue. 

Behind him, Shiro keeps fucking him. Harder. Deeper. Hitting that point that Keith recognizes as him stepping up to the ledge and finally dropping off into pure and primal gratification.

That’s the moment Kuro takes control. He slides his fingers into Keith’s hair. Then, he takes a breath and gives his hips an experimental pump, short and shallow, all while staring down into Keith’s eyes with an intensity that could burn sin right out of souls. Keith pulls back, runs his tongue along the underside of Kuro’s cock, then closes his eyes as Kuro's fingers tighten in his hair. 

Kuro grunts as he thrusts himself back into Keith’s mouth, careful. Always careful. Precise in his movements, considerate of Keith’s limits. He can already feel the way Kuro’s cock pulses.

Neither Shirogane will last. That’s the one thing Keith’s body tells him with unerring clarity.

Shiro has lost himself already, hands tight in their grip on his hips, each jerk forward of his own ending with a resounding smack of skin harshly meeting skin. His breath comes in short erratic pulses, tipped with huffs of sound that could have become a grunt, might have been a moan. All of it gratuitously wanton. 

The one to break first is Kuro. Not that Keith is surprised, though when he spills into his mouth, Keith has to refocus to avoid choking on it all. Kuro barely lets out a sound. But his lips are parted, his fingers going slack in Keith’s hair. He might be the more talkative of the two, but when it comes to the bedroom, Kuro is strangely quiet. As though there’s a certain sanctity to the matter of coming that shouldn’t be disrupted by him crying out. 

Maybe there is. 

On the other hand, Shiro only grows more vocal. 

“I’m so close, Keith,” he breathes out. It sounds like he’s fighting off his orgasm, delaying it for as long as possible, all just to keep fucking into Keith like it’s the last good thing he might do with his life. 

Keith nods as he licks up the mess over his lips. “Touch me. . .”

A quiet little demand that Shiro all too readily complies with. His hand slips from Keith’s waist and finds his cock. Jerking him off in time to his own thrusts, Shiro begins his litany. 

_Is it good?_

_Fuck, you feel amazing, Keith._

_God, I missed you. I missed you. . .I need you._

_Tell me if you need more._

_Keith, I’m so close. . .I’m. . ._

When he comes, he does so deep inside of Keith. And Keith comes with him. Like always. Shiro had been reluctant about it at first, coming inside of him at all, only to admit it was a desire of his several months into their relationship. The first time he did, he barely lasted more than a minute or two. Keith found it endearing. Shiro had taken his embarrassment in stride (and made him swear they were never to tell Kuro about it). 

Now though?

As long as Keith consents, Shiro unloads himself while buried to the hilt, then takes his time sliding out of Keith. 

“You’re the only one,” Shiro breathes out as he leans over and kisses Keith between his shoulders. He’s still inside of him, thrusting weakly, pressing kisses down his back until he reaches the base of his spine and finally pulls himself up again. He stays like that for another moment, running his hands down the curve of Keith’s ass. After another minute, Shiro spreads Keith open and eases himself out.

Keith groans as Shiro leaves him feeling empty in an entirely different way from the last few weeks. Still standing before him, Kuro holds out his hand and helps Keith back up, a grin plastered over his face. 

“Not bad, Red.”

“You came too quick.”

Kuro snorts. “I’ve been hard since the moment I started in on you. . .”

Shaking his head with a laugh, Keith turns around to see Shiro tucking himself back into his pants. An arousing sort of sight, if he didn’t feel so drained at the moment. 

One to keep for another lonely night. 

“Take a shower with me?” he asks. To make his point, he runs his fingers through the slick splattered across his stomach. 

Shiro lifts an eyebrow, then glances over at Kuro.

With a smirk curving the corner of his mouth, as sharp and wicked as any Kuro could sport, Keith says, “He can join. . . .After he cleans up the mess he made in here.”


End file.
